I think people who believe in a life after death and those who don’t are both wrong. Or both right, depending on how you look at it. Reality is beyond pairs of opposites. Its not a static thing, its constantly created in the present moment. Its like the crest of a wave, a thing we can conceive of that both exists and does not exist. Yes, there’s water in motion, forming a crest, but its never the same. The thing we call a wavecrest exists only in our minds.
Think about it.
Imagine you were a new born baby who knew nothing about the world. Suppose then you closed your eyes and tried to imagine it — the world, all of it, from microscopic life to the vastness of space;
From chocolate pudding to the love of one old couple to world war.
Think you, an innocent infant, could do it? I doubt it. And deep down, so do you, I think.
In like wise, you cannot imagine what lies beyond “that further shore from whose borne no traveler has returned”, try as you might. But that failure says nothing about what we may or may not actually be in for. We just don’t know. Why can’t we just admit it?
Category: the deep
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the thing we call a wavecrest exists only in our minds
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I commit my words to the deep
I commit my words to the deep, and if by some chance they may someday be recovered and bring something — anything at all — with them to you, then let them also bring a blessing, and a caution: as the length of our lives are to eternity, so is the breadth of our understanding to reality.
To be present on this earth so briefly, and to be gone so long, it is bittersweet: a warm golden dewey sunrise, a crimson fire sunset. A brief day between, and that is all. How many sunsets may a barren cliff witness, itself awesome in its beautiful ancientness? Yet the cliff does not perceive the beauty — neither that of the sun, nor its own. That gift, however, is given to us. Let us employ it nobly!
Cherish those around you, for they are your world. Cherish your dreams, for they are your destiny. And remember: all that remains of you after you’ve gone are the consequences of your actions. So act well! Be conscious! Do good! Love, and allow yourself to be loved. Think! Feel! Dream big dreams and then endeavor to make them come true. What else is there to do? -
religious faith is so flexible
religious faith is so flexible. in the face of obviously contradictory evidence, we have devised increasingly
elaborate schemes to explain the apparent discongruity between what we believe and what we observe.
a careful reading of new testament scripture, even just focusing on the canonical body, but even more so when
one takes into account contemporaneous apocrypha as contextual, we see that many if not all of the most devout
of Jesus’ followers were convinced that the end days were imminent. Jesus himself alludes to it elliptically
and ambiguously once or twice, “Amen I say to you, the day is coming soon…”
but in the intervening millenia, the day Jesus referred to appears not to have come, and well, let’s say, it
gives new and unexpected meaning to the word “soon”.
we don’t let that get in our way, however, as we focus on other aspects of the message.
it is in this way that the political dialog around war runs in a circular argument. we enter an
ill-conceived, wrong-headed engagement applying the full the force of our massive military, with “shock and
awe” tactics.
the policy is informed by a kind of religious faith, that while referring to a desirable end state, does not
provide us with a rational path from where we are to that result.
we “sell” the war using fabricated evidence, and mislead ourselves as to our ultimate objectives. first, we
tell the world that we have hard evidence that a rogue nation is in possession of functioning nuclear,
biological and chemical weapons, and that this nation is threatening to use those weapons agains us and our
“friends” (meaning, of course, israel, though curiously no one ever says it out loud).
the public is not given specifics on all this, but our allies in the u.n. and nato remain unconvinced after
being briefed. their stubborn refusal to accept the lies results in a complete breakdown in communication,
and active calumny, with some in the administration insinuating the recalcitrant allies are cowards or worse.
so we go in, pretty much alone, guns ablazing. we accomplish the objective of rendering the nation a
disaster, and ultimately removing the dictator. but then things start to go terribly wrong.
now, no weapons were found despite a multimillion dollar nationwide hunt. so we respin the motiviation for
the war as that of “liberation” of a people from their oppressive dictator. nevermind that the people didn’t
ask to be liberated, perhaps they dared not, but how many other evil despots are there in the world? are we
to depose them all? and replace them with what?
assuming we did want to, which we obviously don’t in the case of dictators friendly to us, such as musharraf
of pakistan in particular, and others too numerous to mention, assuming we did want to rid the world of
despots, do we really have the capacity? do we even have the right? some cases may be more clear cut than
others.
that’s my point. things aren’t so simple as our current administration seems to think.
and so, we “liberate” a nation, that seems to be at least as interested in liberating themselves from us as
they were in liberating themselves from their tyrant, but things go terribly wrong.
hundreds die, daily bombings and attacks take several u.s. lives each day, and those few friends who did join
us in the early days of the war are withdrawing.
and with each reversal, in the world of the faithful, the argument for renewed committment grows stronger —
we can’t let those lives be lost in vain. to quit now would be disaster — like an article of religious
faith, its a circular argument that justifies itself, and is not subject to rational analysis. -
Red Rock State Park, Gallup, New Mexico
I woke early, and in a way, feel like I’m stealing some private time as I quietly slip out trying not to wake anyone.
I have this journal in my hand, my blue jeans on because its a little chilly as the sun comes up behind the massive red rock, known as Church Rock.
We drove in late last night, later than we should have – we were punchy and tired, and we pushed a little farther than we should have, but more to the point, we could barely make out the sites.
The office here had long been closed and the restrooms were locked and I was out of beer, and nothing was right. So we had a bite to eat – no cooking tonight, just salad or cereal according to your preference, and then to bed, a little reading and lights out after a long, long day.
But this morning, it is a different world.
At 7 am I wandered over to the office and signed us in & picked up the keys to the showers and restroom, which were fine, although the ladies would have no use for them until nearly 10:00.
Meanwhile, I take my free coffee (free coffee! and its good!) – sit down at a picnic table and contemplate my surroundings.
Behind me stand a number of massive humps of red sandstone from the Mesozoic era. They look it too. For all the world, I could be in Bedrock and the Flintstones could be living among the trees that dot the top we had only seen by the rise of the yellow moon last night in a notch between two of these sleeping giants who surely witnessed dinosaurs trod this very ground even as we drive vehicles powered by petroleum oils derived from the remains of that same era. The moon last night cast a spooky light on Church Rock in the notch between these two massive tongues of sandstone embracing this campground.
But as I sit here and sip my coffee in the pleasant quiet of the ancient early morning – and as the shadows slide down the rock faces and across the grass toward me, retreating before the oncoming sun, I try to recall the events of the past few days as thousands upon thousands of Monarch butterflies dance before and around me.
Their peculiar fluttering, resting, darting and dancing has a hypnotic and restful rhythm – clearing my mind, but also my heart and my soul as I ponder the eternity of this resting place along their phenomenal migration from the jungles of Mexico to the northern forests (or at least what remains of them)..
How do these tiny fellows accomplish their feat?
Does it have something to do with the unseen quality of this place, something still magical to us, something for which we yet lack the tools to measure or perceive directly, except intuitively, as if out of the corner of the eye? Or is it that for them, like me, this place just “feels” right? This is where I’m supposed to be, this is what I’m supposed to be doing, dashing around the southwest in the heat, from rock to canyon, from pictograph to petroglyph, from ruin to ruin, contemplating the passage of time, and considering that the old ones – the Anasazi – were here only a thousand years before us, and nothing at all remains of them except a few scratches in the rock and a few stones stuck together with mud in the notch of a sheer cliff face.
And before them came the “Basketweavers”, who left us even less – just a few pictographs in isolated places, miraculously preserved in the arid desert shadows among the rocks and crags – telling us tantalizingly little about them except that they farmed and wove and traded with fisher people as well as other hunters of the plains and mountains as long ago as 2500 B.C.
And so four and a half millennia are to these butterflies nothing – they have been making these seasonal migrations for millions of years – who knows how long? Tens of millions, hundreds of millions? Admirably resilient for all their apparent fragility.
And what shaman or hunter sat in this very spot three thousand years ago, among the crags of these red rocks, watching the sun rise, pondering similar thoughts amid clouds of Monarchs fluttering through eternity?